Page 9 of Cross My Heart

But nope, they just sit there, looking smug. Like this is some kind of contest, and I’ve been disqualified at the very first round.

“Please, professor?” I add, forcing myself to look contrite. Remembering his reputation, I flash him my most innocent smile, and even bat my eyelashes a little. Sure, I’m not exactly a blushing freshman, but if he has a thing for students, maybe I can sweet-talk my way out of this. “Couldn’t you make an exception? Just this once? I’d besograteful,” I add, all breathy.

But Saint just takes a slow sip of his coffee and gives a careless shrug. “What kind of example would we be setting, letting you stay?” His gaze sweeps over me, like he can see right through me—like he can see that I don’t really belong.

“You can’t expect to waltz in here late, and bat those pretty eyelashes, and expect to have everyone bend to your whim,” he continues. “It’s such a cliché, don’t you think? It doesn’t make you look half as cool as you think.”

The words are familiar, and then I realize: He’s quoting my own quip right back at me!

I narrow my eyes, meeting his smug stare. So, that’s what this is about. I wounded his delicate male ego this morning, and now he’s turning the tables, and reminding me who’s really got the power here.

“Go on,” he says, nodding to the door. “Shoo.”

Shoo! Like I’m some kind of pet, for him to order around!

I bite back my furious retort just in time.Remember, you’re undercover. Keeping a low profile. Which means not pissing off the star professor on my very first day.

So, I get to my feet, forcing myself to move slow and casually. Like I’m not really burning with embarrassment under everyone’s scornful glares. I saunter back the way I came—not trying nearly so hard to avoid trampling on the other students as I go this time.

But despite the voice in my head reminding me to shut up and take whatever public humiliation this annoyingly handsome asshole wants to dish out, I can’t help pausing by the door. “Does this ban on attending your seminar last all semester, or just for the day?” I ask, fixing him with an icy look. “I really would like the chance to learnsomething,” I add, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Since that is your actual job, isn’t it? As opposed to, well, all the rest of yourextracurricularactivities.”

I don’t wait for an answer—or another put-down. I turn on my heel and walk out.

And yes, I let the door slam shut behind me. Immature? Maybe, but there’s something about that Saint guy that’s already getting under my skin.

Like the fact he clearly gets off on ordering people around, like he’s in total control.

And the inconvenient fact that I felt a rush of heat while he was doing it. Because if he’d instructed me like that outside of official class time…

In a bedroom, perhaps…

Tempting, sexy scenes flood my mind before I can stop them: Saint laying me out on that crushed velvet couch, sending the coffee cups crashing to the floor. Damp skin sliding, fingers pressing justthere. His cut-glass English accent murmuring filthy whispers in my ear, ordering me to my knees, to be a good girl for him—

“Wait up!” There’s laughter and voices down the hall, and I snap out of my reverie, as a group of students bustle past.

Down girl, I scold myself, blushing. Just because I like my romance novels on the spicy side, it doesn’t mean this man isn’t a smug asshole for talking to me like that in real life.

Besides, when has a real man ever measured up to the breathless, sexy scenes that fill my Kindle and keep my highlights tool working overtime?

Precisely never.

I plantmyself down on a bench opposite the stairwell, pull out my reading for the week, and wait. The hour passes quickly, and soon, the other students are clattering down the stairs, gushing over their first amazing experience with the great Professor St. Clair.

“He’s one of the youngest members on staff,” a blonde girl is saying, as they sweep past. “You know he’s published already?”

“And have you seen the Ashford estate out in the country?” another girl pipes up, red-cheeked and flushed from a whole hour in the great man’s company. “It was featured inTown & Countrylast year, it’s gorgeous!”

They disappear without a word to me, but I stay planted right there, until the man himself finally descends. He’s pulled on a navy peacoat, and with an armful of papers, he’s every inch the dashing academic—although the gleam in his eye when he sees me is anything but studious. “You waited for me,” Saint says, smirking.

“For your assignment,” I correct him crisply. “Something tells me my classmates aren’t going to fill me in on what I missed.”

“Snooty little suck-ups, aren’t they?” he agrees, and I bark a laugh in surprise. “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother teaching here,” he continues, producing a printed reading list and dropping it on the bench beside me.

And I realize: he likes this. Me talking back to him. Giving as good as I get. Not swooning and sighing like all those other students, who actually care about impressing him for their grades.

“Because you like to lord it over everyone, and savor what small, pathetic scraps of power you can wield?” I suggest sweetly.

Saint grins wider, and damn, if it doesn’t make him even hotter: the sudden flash of mischief in his eyes, the promise of some reckless pleasure in his plush, sensual lips…

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